“Is the human a threat to the Celestial Realm?”
His job was to maintain balance and eliminate any peril to the divine world, not to deal with more humans.
Michael’s jaw hardened. “No.”
“Then it isn’t a task for me. Get a Throne. They are warriors. Even a guardian angel will help. I have other work to attend to and must speak with an angel who has chosen to fall from grace.”
Michael quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve taken on that, too?”
“It’s always been a part of my job.”
“Right.” Michael dropped the scroll and rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger before he looked up. “I need you, just this once, Loráed. It’s all I ask.”
Lore crossed to the French doors, and with a thought, they opened. A gust of icy air hit him. He barely felt it as he faced the archangel to refuse, then stalled.
After what Michael had done for him, he supposed he could watch out for the mortal while fulfilling his latest task. “Very well.”
“I will send all the info you require to the cell phone you use while here.” He removed the device from his desk drawer and handed it to Lore.
“How long will I be this…this protector?”
“Until the threat to her is eliminated.”
“Her?”
The archangel raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“Makes little difference.”
“Good.” Michael’s gaze skimmed over him. “I’d suggest a more human apparel.”
Lore glanced down at himself. He’d never given much thought about clothes. His glaringly white tunic and pants were serviceable, his shirt possessing long slits on his back for when his wings emerged, but he supposed it wouldn’t do if he were to be among humans. With a thought, he switched to black pants, a button-down shirt, and shiny dress shoes.
He slipped the cell into his pants pocket and undid the choking top buttons on the shirt.
Michael snorted. “If I hadn’t seen this, I would have thought you raided Blaéz’s closet.”
“Then he’s the only one with any dress sense.”
Amusement glinted in the archangel’s swirling blue eyes. “What’s wrong with jeans?” He waved a hand at his legs. “They work well.”
“You’ve spent too much time in the human world, Michael. Where is she?”
“The French Quarter, New Orleans.”
Lore stepped out onto the terrace, the door shutting behind him.
While he awaited the Supreme Seraph to send him the location of his next job, he might as well find this female who needed protection, likely from some powerful demon. Which would be the reason Michael required his aid.
He released his wings, and a rip echoed as they tore through the back of his shirt in a rustle of feathers. Lore shot into the air, instantly concealing himself from human eyes, and flashed across the land to the French Quarter. Seconds later, he coasted and settled on a roof in the busy part of the neighborhood.
Dissonance reverberated from the street below, drunken revelry crowding his heightened hearing. The stench of sewageand decaying waste attacked his sensitive nose. He kept his breathing shallow as he retracted his wings.
Babysitting.
A Powerbabysitting?
Michael owed him for this.
